


Neglected

by Lady_Kit



Series: 12 Days of Shipmas [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scars, Socially awkward Papyrus-es, minor collaring kink, off-screen death of unnamed character, past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-02-24 03:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13204884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit/pseuds/Lady_Kit
Summary: He could not allow Slim to continue on like this. Something had to be done, and if Razz didn’t care to do it, then Edge supposed the matter fell to him. Never mind that the idea of Slim wearing his collar made magic pool in his mouth. That was entirely irrelevant.Entirely.__________________Fell-verse monsters don't express affection like Tale-verse monsters. One might even say they don't know how.





	1. Feeding stray dogs

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for off-screen death and mention of past self-harm.

This was entirely unreasonable. Unacceptable. Edge exhaled slowly, fingers drumming indignantly on the kitchen counter. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel like this, about _him,_ of all people?

He peered over his shoulder, eyeing the other skeleton slumped at the kitchen table. His head was down, pillowed on his arms, and his sockets were closed. A set of earbuds was plugged tightly into his acoustic meati, and Edge could hear the faint, tinny sounds of Swapfell Napsttaton’s latest release. Edge shivered a little, something hot gripping his spine when he saw that display of trust.

He knew the other skeleton wasn’t here for him. He was simply waiting for Red. His soul warmed a little. That was surprisingly considerate, actually—waiting here, so he didn’t pester Red at his sentry station. Edge glanced back at him again, paying particular attention to the caramel stains and discolored patches on his jacket. The ruff of his hood was dirty, dust and ash rubbed into the faux-fur. What really caught Edge’s attention, however, was the flash of scuffed bone peeking from the coat.

Slim wasn’t wearing a collar. Edge blinked, stunned and appalled. He’d been wearing a collar before, hadn’t he? Surely his brother didn’t just let him wander around collarless? A 1HP monster like Slim…? It was unconscionable. Even if he didn’t doubt that Slim had more than a few tricks up his sleeve, it was foolish to tempt fate.

Slim’s sockets started to open, and Edge turned back to the counter, busying himself with dinner preparations once more, his mind churning. He could not allow Slim to continue on like this. Something had to be done, and if Razz didn’t care to do it, then Edge supposed the matter fell to him. Never mind that the idea of Slim wearing his collar made magic pool in his mouth. That was entirely irrelevant. _Entirely_.

The chair scrapped behind him, and he turned as Slim rose. The slighter monster stretched, and Edge flinched at the sound of magic popping in his joints. He started for the door, and Edge couldn’t help but say, “Where are you going?” His voice came out a little louder than he intended, and Slim turned, raising a brow-bone. Edge’s cheekbones flushed, but he lifted his chin and drew himself up. Slowly, Slim pulled an earbud out of one earhole and cocked his head. Clearing his throat, Edge rocked on his toes and looked away, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You are. Welcome to stay. For dinner. If you wish, that is.”

Slim paused, studying him. Then he shrugged and kicked the chair away from the table, sitting heavily once more. Edge’s soul unclenched and he nodded stiffly, turning back to the counter to continue preparing dinner. As he chopped the onions, he glanced back to see that Slim was now watching him intently. He lifted his chin, feeling his cheekbones heat again.

Then he pushed away from the counter and reached into a cupboard, pulling down a container of cookies he’d made yesterday. He tossed it onto the table and said, stiffly, “They’ll go stale if someone doesn’t eat them.” Slim’s sockets widened, looking between him and the plastic container. Edge turned away, as if he didn’t care what Slim did one way or the other. When he heard the container being opened, though, he relaxed a little, his soul growing warm.

 

Food, he found, was the easiest way to assuage his need to look after the other skeleton. Though the lack of collar continued to prey on his mind, that was a rather delicate topic and not one he was ready to broach. So he simply plied Slim with food whenever he came over. At first, Slim had been suspicious—of him and the food—but gradually, he’d started to accept it with a quiet smile. Sometimes he’d duck his head and even murmur a soft, “thanks.”

Then, weeks after Edge had first noticed his lack of collar, Slim teleported into the house. Edge had been in the back room, doing laundry when he heard the other monster shortcut in—quieter than Red, since he didn’t announce himself like a sensible Fell monster, but accompanied by the distinctive sound of a shortcut, so Edge knew it was him. Relief washed through him. Slim had been visiting nearly ever day for the last week or so, and Edge had…gotten used to seeing him around. When he hadn’t arrived at his usual time, Edge had…well, he’d been concerned. There was a lot that could happen to an uncollared low-HP monster in a Fell-verse.

And something clearly had. Edge froze in the doorway, his soul going cold when he saw Slim. His eyelights were out and he was swaying on his feet. Dust covered his jacket. Edge slowed his approach, making sure to scuff his feet against the floor so Slim could hear him coming. “Slim?” he asked, trying to keep his voice soothing though it hardly came naturally. “Slim? Are you injured?”

Slim’s head jerked up stiffly, his eyelights flaring to life all at once. Edge didn’t relax his posture and he didn’t get any closer. “Are you injured?” he asked again, but Slim didn’t seem to be paying attention to him. His gaze was darting around the room, as if he were lost. Edge paused, keeping outside his reach and raising his control hand—just in case he needed to defend himself. “Do you know where you are?” The slighter monster’s chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he was having trouble drawing in air. “ _Slim_ ,” Edge said, trying to get his attention, “Look at me.”

Finally, Slim’s gaze landed on Edge and a little awareness seemed to come back to him. “i—“ He took a breath, fingers slipping into his sleeve to audibly scrape at his ulna. Then he ducked his head and released a shuddering breath. “heya,” he said hollowly, lifting a hand in greeting.

Still cautious, Edge nevertheless stepped closer. “Are you injured?” he asked, and Slim shook his head, though he refused to look at Edge. Edge knew better than to ask ‘what happened?’. Nothing good, and for now, it really didn’t matter. “Come here then,” he said, motioning Slim over to the couch. “Sit down before you fall down.” Slim barked out a bitter laugh, and Edge realized he’d just made a rather awful pun. Color flared in his cheekbones and he said, stiffly, “Not…not what I meant.” Heavily, Slim obeyed, sprawling across one of the couch cushions. Dust plumed when he did so, and Edge couldn’t help but wince. “Give me your jacket. I’m doing laundry right now anyway.”

Slim went very still, and he looked up at Edge, eyelights dim. He pinched the cloth between two fingers and tugged at it in question, one brow-bone raised. “Yes,” Edge reiterated, exasperated. “You can’t be comfortable like that—covered in dust and caramel stains.”

For a few seconds, Slim didn’t move. Then, slowly, he peeled the jacket off and held it out to Edge, tension coiled in every bone in his body. If Slim was as attached to his jacket as Red was, then Edge thought he might understand. “I’m not going to damage it,” he said stiffly, chin raised, when Slim refused to let go. He was venting wounded pride, but Slim nodded coolly and released the jacket. Rolling his eyelights, Edge left to start the laundry.

Slim was watching him carefully, wary in a way that he hadn’t been since the first time they’d met. Edge pretended not to notice. Instead, he went into the kitchen and dug some leftovers out of the fridge, heating them up before he returned to the living room and set them on the coffee table. “Here,” he said, pretending to be cool and unconcerned. “If you’ve expended magic, you ought to eat.”

Unmoving, Slim continued to stare at him, eyelights dim. It was not uncomfortable. Not at all. Or awkward. And Edge wasn’t fidgeting. That was beneath him. The Great and Terrible Papyrus did not _fidget_. He cleared his throat and said, looking away, “Or don’t. Whatever pleases you; I don’t much care either way.”

“liar,” Slim said softly. It jolted Edge, his head whipping around so he could meet Slim’s gaze.

“Excuse me? What did you just say?”

Slim lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug, then reached out to take the plate of food. It was then that Edge saw the marks on his ulna. A series of healed breaks. Some older than others, and some obviously the result of multiple breaks laid overtop one another. Edge caught his hand, studying the marks. Slim tried to pull away, but Edge held him more tightly. “These are self-inflicted,” he said, not sure if he was more surprised or more angry—at Razz for not doing anything, at himself for not realizing earlier, maybe even at Slim himself.

“fuck off,” Slim said, still trying to pull his hand away, “thought you didn’t care.” His eyelights flared in challenge.

Edge looked between his face and the marks on his arm. “You’re right,” Edge said, releasing Slim’s hand. He pulled it in toward his chest, cradling it. He didn’t touch the offered plate of food again. “I lied,” Edge said, walking around to the other side of the couch. Slim pulled away, trying to keep an eye on him, but Edge still managed to catch his shoulder. “Relax,” he said, starting to project / calm / security / safety /. Slim shuddered, his sockets going wide.

“what are you doing?” he asked, staring up at Edge.

“Helping you relax. It won’t affect you unless you’re receptive to it, idiot. It’s not as if I’m drugging you.” Slim still looked a little panicked, so Edge turned off the projections and sighed, throwing his hands up into the air in exasperation. That probably wasn’t helping Slim calm down, but honestly, Edge had no idea what to do—with himself, with the other monster, or with his own confused muddle of feelings. “You obviously came here for help,” Edge said stiffly, “Let me help!”

Slim stared up at him, pulling in on himself again. Retreating. Stepping back, Edge realized that he had no idea how to approach this version of himself. He wasn’t like Red. He wouldn’t push back against Edge’s brash nature, not unless he snapped entirely. “I.” Exhaling hard, Edge looked away. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. I won’t disturb you.” Then he left, silently cursing himself. He started gathering cleaning supplies from under the sink, needing something to occupy his hands.

He didn’t notice Slim hovering in the doorway until the other monster cleared his throat. Edge paused, in the middle of exchanging his leather gloves for rubber. “why?” he asked.

“Why what?” Edge countered, tired.

Slim stepped into the kitchen, head bowed and fingers playing over his scarred ulna. “why do you care?” He looked up briefly, his eyelights bright and challenging. Then he ducked his head again, and Edge realized that he didn’t always lower his head out of submission. At least sometimes he did it to hide his feelings.

Edge crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “I wasn’t aware I needed a reason,” he said stiffly. Slim didn’t reply, just continued to stare at the ground. Without his coat, he looked smaller, and Edge wanted nothing more than to curl around him and _show_ him how much he cared. But they were Fell monsters, and that simply wasn’t the way things were done.

“well. knock it off,” Slim said, still not looking at him. “you have better options.”

Edge went still, then he set the gloves down and took a step closer. “You don’t get to decide that,” he said loftily.

“the fuck i don’t,” Slim said, but when he glanced up, his mouth was starting to relax into a smile. “you want an itemized list?”

Edge smirked, arms crossed. “I already made one. It didn’t help.”

That actually startled a laugh out of Slim. Then he sighed and looked up at Edge. “that…thing.” He gestured loosely. “earlier. can you…?” Abruptly, he shrank in on himself, apparently unwilling to ask. He started to pull away, but Edge began projecting again. He allowed it to start subtly—the barest whisper of / care / security / control /. When Slim paused in the doorway, though, allowing Edge to come up behind him and wrap his arms around Slim’s waist, he strengthened the projections. / Control / care / Security / Safety /.

Slim exhaled heavily, leaning back against Edge. He shuddered, but Edge held him up. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered into Slim’s acoustic meatus as he rubbed a hand along his cervical vertebrae, massaging the bone. Slim shuddered in his grip, but he nodded, going limp as the tension drained from his body.

Later, Edge would try to coax him into a collar. And, later, he might dare allow himself to hope that Slim would return his feelings. For now, though, he was content to make sure Slim knew he was well loved, well cared for.


	2. Changing symbolism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge and Slim define their relationship. 
> 
> Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for very mild collaring kink.

Red was staring at him again. Edge pretended not to notice, busying himself at the stove. Unfortunately, if he was hoping to put off this conversation, he was not granted that mercy. “boss.”

He paused briefly, momentarily frozen by his brother’s tone. He pushed onward, though, and feigned distraction as he asked, “What is it, runt?”

“don’ know, boss. maybe i’m jus’ curious ‘bout our guest, is all.”

Edge’s soul started thrumming, “I thought you’d be pleased he was here so often. You two do seem to enjoy your japes—“

“bro,” Red said, and Edge had to put down the spatula and turn to face him. Leaning against the closed door, Red studied him with the kind of intensity he normally reserved for the Judgment Hall. Edge could feel his sins crawling on his back, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to look away. “what the fuck are ya doin’, huh?”

“I’m making breakfast—“

Red gave him a Look, and Edge instantly felt like he was ten years old again, trying to hide something from his older brother. Swallowing, Edge crossed his arms and lifted his chin. He was an adult. He was Sans’ _boss_ for fucks’ sake—he wasn’t going to allow the runt to stare him down like this. Red didn’t back down, though. He pulled away from the door and stalked toward Edge. He firmly prodded his brother’s chest, poking his sternum. “pap, i swear, if yer jus’ yankin’ his chain er jerkin’ ‘im around, i’m gonna kick yer ass so hard ya won’ be able ta find it fer a week.”

Edge blinked, surprised. “Why would you think—?” Then he clammed up again, unsure how much he wanted to divulge to his brother.

Red’s expression, however, changed from angry to shocked. Then a self-satisfied smirk slowly spread across his face, and he pulled back, looking his brother up and down. “heh, so it’s like that, is it?” he asked, “look at you, little bro, all grown up and—“

“I think _that_ is more than enough,” Edge said sharply, grabbing Red by the collar and glaring down at him. The red flush staining his cheekbones unfortunately undermined his authority.

Still smirking, Red asked, “do we gotta have the talk? ya know where babybones come from, right, bro?”

Edge released him with a heavy sigh, pressing a hand into his brow and grinding the heel of his palm into his forehead. “For fuck’s sake, Sans. This is why I didn’t want to talk to you about this,” he groaned.

Laughing, Red slapped him on the back. Then as if that simply wasn’t enough camaraderie, he stood up on his toes and slung an arm over Edge’s neck, reaching up with the other arm to noogie his skull. Growling, Edge shoved him away. Red just laughed, and they started wrestling with each other, grappling and growling playfully. They only stopped when Edge smelled something burning and suddenly remembered that he’d left the stove on and unattended. With a chastising look at Red—who just shrugged, too amused to be apologetic—Edge dumped the burnt pancake into the trash and set a fresh pat of butter in the pan.

While the butter sizzled, Red settled at the table, smiling broadly. “so…yer gonna collar ‘im, right?”

Edge inhaled sharply, his hand squeezing the spatula hard enough to force magic into his joints. “It. Hasn’t come up.”

Red snorted. “collar ‘im an’ i bet ya won’ have that problem anymore, boss.”

Edge slapped his hand on the counter and snarled, “I do not need your second rate dick jokes right now, Sans!”

“well, if ya want the first rate stuff, yer gonna have ta shell out some cash.” That earned him a vicious glare, and Red held up his hands, small droplets of sweat starting to bead on his brow. “easy, bro. ‘m only dickin’ around—oh fuck!”

Red disappeared before the spatula could hit him. “Hmph.” Edge glared at the space his brother had previously occupied, then sighed before retrieving the spatula. Glaring at the stove, he turned it off and leaned against the counter, head bowed. Red was right, of course. He needed to talk to Slim about the collar. It was hard, though. It wasn’t the kind of think he could just _ask_. Right? That line of thinking only made him grow more agitated. Left without a solution, he turned the stove back on with a huff and finished making breakfast.

Edge brought a plate of pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup out to the living room, setting them on the dining room table. Slim, half asleep on the couch, perked up almost immediately. Despite Red’s rather crude jokes, their interactions had been rather chaste, but last night marked his third overnight stay. Red would have to be blind not to notice. Slim looked between Edge and the plate, still suspicious. Edge sighed. “They’re for you if you want them. If not, then I’m certain the runt will be happy to eat them when he returns.”

Stretching, Slim stood up, dragging the blanket from the couch and pulling it around his shoulders like a cloak. Edge looked from him to the lumpy couch. His brow-bones furrowed. “How did you sleep?” he asked stiffly. Slim just shrugged, but Edge knew that he couldn’t have been comfortable. The couch was too short for his long frame, and it was old, the cushions stuffed unevenly. Slim stretched again, causing his bones to pop. Edge didn’t wince, but it was a near thing.

No matter that he wanted nothing more than to invite Slim upstairs— ~~stars he wanted Slim safe and happy and he wanted to see him at ease and relaxed, purring and collared and _his_~~ —but they were Fell monsters. It wasn’t as simple as that. If Edge invited him to sleep in his room, Slim might assume it was an obligation rather than an invitation—a condition of his stay here. Edge wanted no such misunderstandings between them, but navigating between their broken edges made communication nearly impossible. How could Slim know that Edge was telling the truth when he said that he was welcome here? How could Edge be sure that Slim wasn’t just trying to please him or, worse, waiting for an opportunity to harm him? They were only willing to extend so much of themselves, and thus they found themselves at an impasse. It had to stop. One of them had to make a move, and Edge knew that—but no matter how he tried, he simply couldn’t find the words.

“thank you,” Slim said suddenly, sitting before the plate of pancakes. “i never….” He picked up the fork, toying with it. “thanks,” he said again, fidgeting with his cutlery rather than looking at Edge.

“You’re welcome,” Edge said, making a concerted effort not to fidget. “I—“ Slim looked up at him, and their gazes met. Edge immediately went silent. Then he lifted his chin. “Enjoy,” he said stiffly, gesturing at the pancakes.

As he started back toward the kitchen, Slim spoke again, voice soft. “i’m trying to understand.”

Edge paused, only turning his head slightly—enough to keep Slim in his field of vision, but not enough to risk actual eye contact. “What’s there to understand? They’re _pancakes_. You dip them in syrup and—“

“don’t be an asshole,” Slim said, leaning back in his chair. “i want to know what you get out of this.”

Edge’s fingers twitched, itching for something to keep himself occupied. “What do you think I get out of it?” he asked, stalling.

Slim tapped the butt of the fork against the tabletop. “that’s the thing—i don’t _know_ ,” he said. “i…you….”

Neither of them spoke. Edge lowered his head, thinking of last night. Of holding Slim and projecting / Safety / Security / Care / Control / until he managed to calm the smaller monster’s shaking. Slim had never said exactly what had sent him spiraling into a full-blown panic attack, but he never did. Edge only wished that Slim didn’t feel as if he needed to be pushed past breaking to seek out his company.

“You were upset,” Edge said simply, “I…wanted you to…not. Be. That.” A quick glance at Slim confirmed that his words had only confused matters further. Sighing, Edge spun on his toes and marched over to the table. “I want to collar you,” he blurted out, only to flush bright red when he realized what he’d just said. Slim stared up at him, sockets wide. Soul pounding, Edge’s hands immediately clenched closed, then he took a steadying breath and raised his chin. Speaking slowly, he continued, “I want you to be safe. A collar would…help.”

Slim’s fingers rested on his cervical vertebrae. “you…?”

Edge cleared his throat and looked away. “It’s not meant as an insult,” he said crisply, “I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself. But fools that would otherwise assume you were weak or defenseless because of your stats might hesitate, seeing that you were….” He gestured loosely, trying to find his voice again. “Collared,” he finally finished.

They did not speak of all the things a collar could represent. It was a weighted action, and it carried with it connotations of ownership and slavery that could not be fully dislodged. But there was another element to it—an element of protection and care and the deepest affection. Put simply, a collar meant that someone cared enough about the wearer to seek retribution if they were harmed. The precise symbolism behind the collar changed depending on the exact nature of the relationship.

Edge could only hope that Slim wouldn’t misunderstand what he was offering.

“i—“ Slim swallowed, and then, with a faint _pop_ of displaced air, he disappeared. Edge shut his sockets and hung his head. He’d fucked up. Because _of course_ he’d fucked up. Why had he ever thought—? He kicked a chair away from the table and sank into the seat, cradling his head in his hands as he cursed himself.

 

Neither Red nor Edge saw Slim again for a week. Edge had snapped and snarled when Red asked about it, hoping to rile up his brother, hoping he’d snap back and rip into him like he deserved. But Red’s sockets had just gone soft, and he’d said, “aw, boss. m’sorry. c’mere—“ Edge resisted the hug at first, but eventually, he allowed his older brother to fold his arms around him, accepting the comfort.

He hadn’t thought he’d ever see Slim outside of their multi-universal gatherings after that, frankly. In fact, he’d been debating whether or not he should try to explain himself, worried that it might seem like he wasn’t respecting Slim’s boundaries if he did. So he was rather stunned to find Slim sitting on the floor of his room after he came back from his shift one day, more than a week after he’d disappeared so abruptly. Edge startled briefly, magic flaring before he fully realized that it was _Slim_ and not someone else crouched in his room, waiting to attack.

Slim looked up at him. Their gazes met and held. Edge took a steadying breath, then firmly shut the door behind him. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” he said, “Not here, at least.”

Slim looked away, shrugging. “wasn’t sure you would myself,” he finally admitted.

Edge winced. “Listen. I was…too blunt. I don’t mean—“

“you collared your brother,” Slim said carefully, “but…he’s not your slave. you don’t own him.”

“Of course not,” Edge said, affronted. He thought they’d settled this back when they first met. “It’s for his protection. So everyone knows that there will be retribution if he’s harmed.”

Slowly, Slim took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. “edge. i. i don’t think i can….” He scrubbed a hand over his skull, scraping at the sutures.

“You don’t have to,” Edge scrambled to say, “It’s not a condition of your stay here or of our…relationship.” He stumbled over the word, not sure if it was too intimate.

Slim held up a hand, tugging absently on his jacket’s hem. “let me finish,” he said without bite, “i…i don’t think i can wear your collar—“ Stars above, the words alone made magic pool in Edge’s mouth. “—if it meant you felt the same about me as you do about red.”

“I don’t understand,” Edge said, feeling as if he was somehow suspended. Balanced perfectly on hope—afraid of falling but so desperate to be lifted up he couldn’t deny himself the chance. “Explain it to me,” he said, voice soft. Slim shook his head once, still fiddling with the hem of his jacket. When his fingers slipped inside to finger the breaks on his ulna, though, Edge couldn’t stay away. He crossed the room and knelt beside him, taking his hands. Slim’s grip was tight and desperate. Immediately, Edge started to project—/ Security / Safety / Control / Care /—and said, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Whatever you say, I won’t be angry. You can tell me anything.”

Slim looked up, and their gazes met again. “stars, edge,” Slim said, desperate and scared, “do you have any idea how hard it is? being close to you like this, knowing you don’t feel the same way i do?”

“And how do you feel?” Edge pressed, but Slim lost his courage. He drew in on himself, pressing his face into the ruff of his hood. Closing his sockets, Edge took a steadying breath. He’d have to be strong for both of them. “Because I’m fairly certain that I love you,” he said, “but if that makes you uncomfortable—“

Slim’s skull whipped around to stare at him. “you…?”

Edge gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I. I suppose? I’ve never felt this way before. Perhaps ‘infatuation’ is a better descriptor, but…yes.”

“and…that’s why you want to collar me?”

Settling into a more comfortable position, Edge shook his head. “No. Well, yes—but…I want to collar you because it will help keep you safe.”

Slim smirked. “yeah? that the only reason, edgelord?”

A faint blush colored Edge’s cheekbones. “I will confess…the idea is appealing for…other reasons. As well.” He cleared his throat, looking away. He glanced at Slim out of the corner of his socket, though, and saw the faint purple blush on his cheekbones. He smirked a little, starting to find his footing. “And you? Does the idea appeal at all?” he purred.

The faint violet immediately darkened and Slim looked away, rubbing his humerus. “y-yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “i,” he coughed, trying to clear his throat, “i would like that.”

Moving slowly to give Slim time to object, Edge deliberately touched his cervical vertebrae, sliding his fingers over the smooth bone. Slim’s breath caught and his sockets widened—but he lifted his chin, giving Edge better access. More confident now, Edge settled against Slim’s side, wrapping one arm around his torso, while the other continued to play along his cervical vertebrae. Slim relaxed into his hold, starting to purr faintly. Pressing his mouth against Slim’s acoustic meatus, Edge spoke in a pleased growl. “I’ll be sure to pick out something nice for these lovely bones, then.”

Slim’s purring only grew in volume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most awkward of awkward beanpoles, everyone! Seriously, I actually wanted to focus more on the actual collaring, but these guys are just so awkward I couldn't even get them there. (Sorry.)

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this request in my inbox for a while now. Hope you guys enjoyed!


End file.
